


More Than You Bargained For

by soupyspaceship



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arguing, Blood and Injury, Camping, Canon-Typical Violence, Clay | Dream is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, George is oblivious, Love Confessions, M/M, Manhunt AU, Minecraft Manhunt, Not completed, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Soulmates, wilbur and fundy are briefly here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29295222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupyspaceship/pseuds/soupyspaceship
Summary: There was no sound except the harsh breathing rattling against the inside of his mask. George's stomach dropped as Dream stepped towards him, unhooking the axe from his back, letting the weapon swing menacingly in his hand."Oh George," He leered. "You should never have backed me into a corner."(aka the soulmate au where being near your soulmate heals your injuries, but make it minecraft manhunt)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 337





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first time ever writing a fanfiction. I'm entirely open to criticism, so if there's anything you think I could be doing better, please comment!  
> Hope you enjoy :)

The amber colours of the sunset were crawling further across the sky, inviting in the dark as they went. The onset of the night served to mock the three weary men, who were weighed down by their bags and equipment. Bad stared down at the compass in his hand, brows pulled together in annoyance.

  
"I can't believe we're gonna have to camp out here for the third night." Sapnap scoffed, vacantly wandering after Bad. He trailed his poorly made iron sword in the dirt behind him, carving a line as he walked. "We normally have our targets by day two, at least."

  
"No wonder the bounty was so high." Trailing at the back of pack was George, goggles sliding slowly down his sweaty face. The muscles of his back ached agonisingly with the weight of the materials in his backpack, and feelings of unease brewed uncomfortably in his chest at the growing night. The shadows of the forest leered at him as he walked, and he gripped his sword tighter unconsciously.

  
It seemed like forever ago the three bounty hunters had taken up the mission, bright eyed and confident back in their home village. Sure, the name Dream wasn't strange to the team- it was well known that many tried and failed to take out the notorious target. But a serious of successful hunts had left the trio possibly over confident, and now their spirits were down.

  
"Hey, we're hot on his trail!" Bad interjected against Sapnap and George's complaints. "Plus, we totally would have had him yesterday if we didn't have to wait for Sapnap to catch up after he respawned. We're doing great."

  
A smile passed George's features despite his weariness. Bad was not only a skilled hunter, but also carried a relentless optimism with him, something that was hard to come by nowadays. He glanced over to Sapnap, whose face was pulled into a faint frown.

  
"You okay, man? It's alright if you'd rather we didn't talk about it." George jogged slightly to fall in step with his friend. While most people could respawn without long term damage, death was never pleasant. The mental image of their masked target's axe plunging into Sapnap's chest during their brief scuffle with Dream yesterday flashed through George's mind again.

  
"No, no, it's not that." Sapnap sighed, kicking awkwardly at the grass beneath them. "It's just that.. I can't help but want to meet my soulmate, you know? I know what it would mean for us and our career if I did, but every time I respawn it's just a reminder I don't have them yet."  
George's heart uncomfortably wrenched at his friend's vulnerability. For hunters, like them, soulmates could either be their greatest asset or the reason they had to retire. When you meet your soulmate, the person who was everything missing from you, it came at the price of your ability to respawn. You get to die again, and again, until you met your partner, and from then on you were meant to live your final shot at life together. There was a positive, however. When soulmates were close to each other, non fatal injuries would be healed almost instantly. If your soulmate happened to be a hunter, you were almost invincible in battle. But more likely, you'd have to retire from the dangerous job to save your life.

  
"Sapnap, you still have a promising career. You'll meet them when you're ready, I promise." George supplied weakly. Emotions were not the man's strong suite. "Besides, you're not alone."

  
"You have us!" Bad turned around to flash a sharp toothed grin at the pair. Sapnap's features lit up faintly.

  
"Thanks." He mumbled, before stopping. "Hey, let's just set up camp. It's basically night."

  
Like that, the subject was dropped and the team began to prop up their makeshift tents, enveloped in a comfortable silence interspersed with light hearted jokes.

  
George slipped into his wool sleeping bag as soon as he could, exhaustion from the long day of travelling hitting him like a brick wall. The tent was far from comfortable, but nonetheless he slid off his backpack and placed it at the end of the tent, settling down for the night. He fell asleep to the soft crackles of the campfire Bad assembled, and the quiet mumbles of his friends talking into the night.

The glare of the morning sunlight disturbed George the next morning, streaming in through the opening of his tent. He scrunched his eyes shut, placing his hands over his eyes with a groan. _"I could have sworn I shut my tent opening."_ The thought passed his mind, immediately pursued by a sense of panic. The man's eyes flung open, and he was met with a strangers face peering down at him.

  
Dark green eyes seemed to pierce through George's sleepiness and he sat bold upright, scrambling around to face the stranger in his tent. There was a tense silence in the air as George took in the panicked expression of the man in front of him. He had messy, blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends, and a dusting of freckles across his nose. His strong jawline was tensed with stress. George trailed his eyes down, to where fistfuls of iron were held against the neon green fabric covering the mans chest. Wait, neon green? George's stomach dropped.

  
"Dream?" He hissed into the early morning. He'd never once seen the man's face, nobody had. The idea that this masked murderer- the man who'd alluded hunters for so long- even had a face under the white smiley face had never even occurred to him. Yet, here the bastard was, stealing his fucking iron. Dream grinned, pulling his mask down over his face, before speeding out of the tent wordlessly. George scrambled after him, stumbling across the campsite in his post sleep haze.

  
"Sapnap! Bad! Dream's fucking here!" He hollered, pulling his axe out of his backpack and racing, entirely unprepared, after the green figure. He was half-aware of the yells of Sapnap running behind him.

  
Towering oaks and birches blurred past his peripherals, vision trained on the figure a few paces ahead of him. The drum of the earth beneath his feet and the forest scenery flying past him ignited adrenaline within him. All drowsiness left him as he sprinted after the figure, faintly reminding him of why he loved this job despite it's hazards. George began to taste salt in the air and let a grin cross his face, cheeks red from the chase. They were evidently heading towards the ocean- meaning Dream would have nowhere to run.

  
"Sapnap!" He called out to his friend a few metres behind. "Loop around and corner him!" The sound of footsteps behind him faded away, confirming to George that the other hunter had turned to take a different path to the shoreline in hopes of cornering Dream. Sunlight streamed ahead, and the trees grew fewer and fewer as he ran.  
Finally, Dream broke out from the treeline onto a small beach, vast ocean stretching out ahead, skidding to a halt at the shoreline. George exited the shade of the forest a few seconds later, sword raised and chest heaving from exertion.

  
"Nowhere to run, Dream." George breathed, taking a step forward. Where the hell was Sapnap? The green hooded figure turned around terribly slowly. There was no sound except the harsh breathing rattling against the inside of his mask. George's stomach dropped as Dream stepped towards him, unhooking the axe from his back, letting the weapon swing menacingly in his hand.

  
"Oh George," He leered. "You should never have backed me into a corner." George's heart pounded sickeningly in his chest. Grip tightening on his sword, he leapt forward, swinging for Dream's chest. The iron metal collided with the man's ribs and he hacked out a pained cough before swiftly stepping behind George.  
George tried to spin around fast, possibly swing up his sword perfectly to disarm his opponent.

  
But George wasn't fast enough.

  
A seering, splitting agony in the back of his head was barely registered in his mind before his world went dark.

Dream watched through the mesh of his mask's eyes as the hunter, George, toppled to the ground. The soft rise and fall of the man's body, despite the deep wound axed into the back of his skull, set off a frown on Dream's face. He hated when it had to get messy.

  
"Hunters never learn." He chuckled, raising his axe once more to send the idiot back to his respawn point- but something odd caught his eye. Amongst the red, blood-matted mess of brown hair, the split in the back of the man's skull seemed to be slowly but surely closing up. Deep dread pooled within Dream and he crouched beside the body, hesitantly touching his hand to the back of George's skull.

  
The wound healing sped up even more. Dream watched in equal parts fascination and horror as the skin rebound itself in front of his eyes before he snatched his hand away like the skin of the other man burnt him.

  
"I can't kill you." Dream mumbled, more to himself than anything. "I don't want to be alone. But why did it have to be you?"

  
With much care, something Dream would berate himself for later, he slid a hand under George's chest and flipped him onto his back. Sand flew in all directions at the weight of the man landing on the beach again, and Dream let his eyes roam over the hunter's face. Sure, he'd observed the hunting team from afar before but he'd never taken the time to take in his opponent's faces. Pale skin and faint dark stubble clouded Dream's mind momentarily and he felt his heart race. Time almost stilled as he tried to imprint every feature before him into his mind.

  
Snapping back to, the blonde man shook his head vigorously, as if he could get rid of his thoughts through the action.

  
"Kill, or be killed." He reminded himself, rage welling up in him. The anger wasn't at George, per sey, but more so the stupid universe. Fate truly had intertwined him with the worst possible match, and taken away his respawn abilities with it. Dream began to wonder just how many people out there had killed their own soulmates. He couldn't be the first, right?

  
"George?" The yell of another hunter from the woods spooked Dream into action. He jumped to his feet, reaching for his axe, before pausing. His eyes cast down to George, face down in the sand. _No more respawns._

__  
So Dream did what Dream always did best, and ran._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support so far! Sorry this chapter ends so abruptly, it got too long so I had to split off the end and add it to the start of chapter 3. I've got the plot of this whole thing mapped out now, and I'm very excited to write it.  
> This is the last chapter of set up before the proper story starts, hope you enjoy !! :)

Stars and splotches of green and gold consumed George's sight. Consciousness weaved in and out of his grasp, half there and half gone.  
He was vaguely aware of a voice- Sapnap, he decided- talking in a frenzy somewhere near him. Maybe if George had tuned in he could have deciphered the words frantically flying around him, but for now he was somewhere else.

  
There's a warmth in his chest, tucked behind his ribs and wrapped around his heart. It's like when you find yourself in a church when the sun's at the right angle, and for the first time you see the stained glass cast its many hues across the stone floor. Something new, but not foreign. As much as George yearned to stay here, on the boundary between awake and asleep, pondering over the stained glass of his mind, it appeared the world had other plans.

  
"-looks like he's moving." The words grew clearer to him now, like a camera lens snapping into focus.

  
"George?" Another voice. The abyss of nothingness cleared George's head, and his ochre eyes agonizingly blinked open. Memories of salty air and sand in his mouth swarmed him and he grappled at the tatters of recollection he had left. His mind kept pulling him back to one mental freezeframe of dark green eyes meeting his. The feeling of warmth tugged at him from the inside again, clawing at him almost, but now wasn't the time to mull over it.

  
Sapnap was crouched over him, smile plastered over his features. Behind him, George could see the fabric of the tent and his head swam again.

  
"Where's the sand?" He choked out finally. Sapnap laughed, and for the first time George noticed a glaze of tears that had been threatening to spill out of his friend's eyes.

  
"You fucking swallowed half the sand, that's where it went." The younger boy joked softly. Bad appeared by George's side, holding a cup of liquid heated over the fire.

  
"George, can you sit up slowly for me?" Bad spoke softly to him, only exasperating George's confusion, but he nodded nonetheless. As George carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position, Bad continued. "You got in a scuffle with Dream, you muffinhead. I don't know how you're alive, but Sapnap found you out cold on the beach. You weren't moving for the longest time."

  
"What?" The memory of the searing pain behind his head came back to him. "Oh yeah, I remember it now. He axed the back of my fucking skull, I think." Both Bad and Sapnap stared him down in confusion, before Sapnap laughed.

  
"Oh my god, you're so dramatic. You have a minor graze on the back of your head, you baby." Sapnap wheezed out, causing George to scowl slightly. He remembered the agony, the way it felt like he was behind carved apart, he was sure he did.

  
"I think you're still slightly out of it. Drink this." Bad sighed, glaring at Sapnap as he handed the cup over to George. The herbal scent nearly choked him as he wrapped his shaky hands around it, but he quietly sipped on it anyways. "You've only been out for a couple hours, don't worry."

  
"Perfect! We still have the whole day to track the fucker down again." George said, eyes brightening significantly.

  
"Are you sure you're up to that?" Sapnap queried, brown gaze weighted with concern.

  
"Yes, idiot. If I get too weak to go on, we can just kill me so I respawn without my concussion, or whatever Dream did to me."

  
Bad frowned at that suggestion, understandably unwilling to take his friend's life- even though he would respawn.  
"Why don't we strategise for a little bit first, okay? Come out when you're ready." He finally gave way, turning and exiting the tent, followed by Sapnap. Like that, George was alone.

  
The man leant back on the palms of his hands, eyes staring vacantly at the gaps of sunlight lazily dancing against the roof of his tent. Thoughts drowned him, brain swathed in mental cotton. Almost subconsciously he raised a hand to the back of his head, tracing the shallow graze. The action sent bright green sparks that he couldn't understand through him, and he found himself reminded of the same green eyes he recalled earlier.

  
"Who are you?" He whispered quietly to himself, eyes raking the tent for any memories to grip onto. There he saw it, his backpack at the end of the tent, contents rummaged through and iron missing. Heart pounding, he swung open the tent door, head only slightly swimming as he stood up in the warm morning air. Bad and Sapnap were sat on logs around the ash remnants of last night's fire, holding various maps and compasses as they talked.

  
"I saw him! I just remembered." George half-yelled, eyes wild and hands waving frantically. "Dream, I mean. I saw his face."

"Bullshit." Sapnap tried, opening his mouth to say more, but George continued his memory fuelled ramble.

"No! He was in my tent this morning, remember? He was looting our camp. I don't think he expected us to wake up, because I swear I saw his face."

"This is.." Bad's eyes were wide with shock, before he rooted around in his bag and produced a scrap of paper and a quill. "Incredible. Our biggest drawback was that he could just vanish into crowds at villages. Describe him, please." The excited man urged. George took a seat next to Sapnap on the logs as he tried to conjure the memory back into his mind.

  
"Uh, green eyes." George cringed at the first thing out his mouth, but continued. "His hair is dark blonde, and he has freckles, and-" He's attractive. George shook his head. That was not the way he should be thinking about a target.

  
"That's great and all, but we're trying to spot him in a crowd, not write his dating profile." Sapnap laughed, sending George's face into flames of red. "Anything discernible or unique?"

  
"He has a scar over the bridge of his nose." George finally supplied. An exasperated sigh left Sapnap.

  
"Hey, that's good enough! George, are you ready to go?" Bad cut in, sensing frustration brewing. George curtly nodded and Bad flashed a grin. "Great. Let's get going!"

It was just past midday when the stone and wood sight of a village came into view. Bad immediately began spitting out strategy, pondering if Dream had passed through and whether it would be wise to ask around. George, on the other hand, had promptly broken into a sprint towards the village.

  
"Where the fuck are you going?" Sapnap yelled, running after him.

  
"Fuck hunting Dream, I want running water." George hollered over his shoulder, the animals in the field scattering as he passed. Excitement bubbled under the man's skin at the promise of washing in something other than a river, and eating food that wasn't hunted down and half cooked by Bad. His shoes clattered onto the gravel path and he skidded to a halt, regaining his composure slightly and turning around to wait for his friends.

  
Sapnap may have mocked him, but the smile and look of relief in the man's eyes revealed that he was just as appreciative to get a break from the wilderness as anyone else. People didn't give them a second look as they busied around their village, running errands or meeting with friends. This village was obviously no stranger to unwashed travellers turning up.

  
"Okay, so." Began Bad, pulling out a small velvet drawstring bag from his pocket. He emptied out a few chunks of gold into the palm of his hand and gave it to George. "You're on weapons duty. Our iron stuff is just not working out, go find a blacksmith and get it updated. Sapnap, you go try to find George a shower so he'll quit whining. I'm gonna stock up on food."

  
"Why do you get to pick what we eat?" George complained, pocketing the gold with a pout.

  
"Because last time you chose, we had nothing healthy, and everything ran out after a week. Now shoo!" Bad responded with a laugh, unclipping his weapons and handing it to George. Sapnap tried to offer his crudely made iron sword as well, but George shook his head.

  
"Sapnap, if I show up with that thing, they'll laugh me out of the village. I'll just get you a new one."

  
With that, George split off from his group and travelled further into the village. It was while passing by the various houses and small shops lining the village paths that George realised just how rough he looked. Around him, the locals were excitedly chatting to their friends or rushing to wherever they needed to be. Children chased each other in-between fences and trees, happy yells ringing in the air. It was a cheerful place. Yet, here was George, sporting an unfortunate stubble and mud on his clothes- not to mention the sand still caked into his hair.

  
Envy for this calmer sort of life riddled him from time to time, especially in places like this. But the pay was good and his friends were here, in the hunting business, and that's what matters. The flat roof of the blacksmith crept into his vision and the contemplation had to be pushed to the side for now. The small man bounced up the cobble steps and knocked on the wooden door twice.

  
An unholy creak rang out as the door swung open to reveal a tall man stood inside, curly hair flopping haphazardly in his eyes.

  
"Hello!" George smiled up at the man, trying his best to come off as friendly. Often times, people looked down on hunters, so he tried to overcompensate regularly. "Would you be able to do some weapon work for me?"

  
"Of course. Show me what you've got and I'll see what I can do." The stranger responded kindly, opening the door wider and stepping aside. George stepped into the blacksmith and found his lungs immediately assaulted by the smell of burning and ash. Holding back a grimace out of politeness, he clattered his team's collection of weaponry onto the small wooden table tucked into the corner before turning around to face the man.

  
"So, what's your business here? My name's Wilbur, by the way." The man asked, glancing at the shoddy weaponry with a poorly concealed frown.

  
"Me and my friends are, uh-" George lowered his voice slightly. "Bounty hunters. We need whatever you can do for this much gold." He fished around in his pocket and presented Wilbur with the gold Bad had given him.

  
"Bounty hunters, huh?" Wilbur took the gold and continued to chat conversationally as he set to work. "My father was one too. Never died, not even once, in his whole career. He was the best there was."

  
"Oh yeah?" George inquired further, settling back against the wall as he grew invested in the conversation.

  
"Yeah, it was a baby zombie that got him in the end. Unfortunate, isn't it?" Wilbur continued.

  
"Philza? Your dad is Philza?" Disbelief edged George's voice. Philza truly was the best there ever was, and the stories of his death shook the hunting world to the core. George was still training when it happened.

  
"Philza," Wilbur repeated with a chuckle. "He was just Phil to me." George suddenly became very aware of how deathly silent it was outside. He could have sworn the chatterings of people used to be there, in the background.

  
"It's an honour to meet his son. I'm sorry about your father, Wilbur. He was my hero-"

  
The door flung open. A hooded figure moved swiftly into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  
"Get on the ground! Pillager raid." The figure hissed, and Wilbur immediately dropped his work, falling to the floor. George followed suite more hesitantly.

  
"Are you sure?" Wilbur asked, knees pulled up to his chest and brown eyes wide open like crescent moons in fear. The figure pulled down his hood to nod, and George's heart stopped. Messy blonde hair and emerald eyes consumed his mind, making it hard to think.

  
"You. Again." George spluttered out. He felt his face burning up and decided to place it down to rage rather than.. anything else. Dream, who was sat up against the door, turned his head to face him. Slowly, a calculated smile passed the man's face, yet George saw worry spark briefly in his eyes.

  
"George." Dream greeted awkwardly. "Isn't this funny?"

  
"Fuck you." George lunged across the room, reaching for a sword off Wilbur's workbench. A weight slammed into his side before he got there, and his attacker's hands found their way to his wrists. George's back hit the stone floor of the blacksmith, and he ended up face to face once again with his enemy.

  
"Stay down, idiot." Dream reiterated, stern gaze holding him in place. "You'll get killed if you go out there."

  
"My friends are out there!" He protested, uselessly kicking his legs up.

  
"My son-" Wilbur choked out. George craned his neck and pressed his cheek against the floor to see the blacksmith, wide eyed as ever, staring out the window hopelessly. George turned his head back to face Dream in time to catch the man's eyes dart back up from his neck, freckled cheeks flushed. George decided he didn't have the time to mull over whatever that implied.

  
"See? He's son is out there, you dick. Let me go."

  
"I'm not letting anyone leave until it's safe." Dream responded curtly, releasing George from his grip.


	3. Chapter 3

George had been tucked by Wilbur's side for what seemed like hours now, humming words of support as arrows flew past the windows outside. Narrow shadows cast onto the walls of the workshop that flitted around ominously were the only hint to what was happening outside. There was very little George could really say to comfort the curly haired man, but he still stayed on the ash covered floor with him to try to offer any help he could. Right now, it seemed all Wilbur wanted to do was ramble anxiously about his kid. Dream was sat, back to the door, axe at rest by his side. George wasn't sure whether the axe was for him, or the pillagers, and he wasn't ready to find out.

"I just hope he's okay." Will muttered, for what seemed to be the hundredth time. "Fundy's a fighter, no doubt, but he is just a kid."

"You think he takes after Phil?" George asked quietly, aiming to focus Wilbur's thoughts on anything but the siege of arrows and yells ringing around outside.

"Definitely!" The smile on the blacksmith's face was heavy with fondness. "He's been saying he wants to be a hunter since the moment he could hold a sword."

"Great," Dream deadpanned from the door, speaking up for the first time in a while. "Like there aren't enough of them." George's responding eyeroll was almost audible. The man he'd spent days tracking down was nothing more than a condescending idiot.

"What's your problem, Dream? Grumpy that people won't let you run around and reign havoc on everything?" The brunette hunter teased, smirk tugging at the side of his mouth.

"Are all hunters this obnoxious, or am I just unfortunate?" Dream shot back, raising his hung head to meet George's eyes. In the gloom of the blacksmith Dream's eyes shone ominously from behind the mess of blonde hair that limply hung in front of his gaze. 

"If I'm so obnoxious, why don't you let me out there then? I need to find my friends." George's question was nothing more than a bitter response, but Dream's reaction almost seemed like the words themselves had burnt him. The blonde pushed his hair out of his face and leant back, brows drawn and jaw tense as he stared down George with borderline unreadable eyes. 

The air felt horrendously heavy in the room. Or maybe it was all the smoke and ash in the air, spat up from the furnaces.   
Dream turned his head, finally, away from George and he began to peer out of the windows coldly. Wilbur was the next person to speak up.

"How's it looking out there?" 

"It's clearing up, I think." Dream smiled softly. "I'm sure your son will be fine." 

"Yeah, Pillagers are more likely to kidnap people than kill them. If anything, Fundy's either safe at home, or in a meat wagon." George tried to add in support, but the horrified look on Wilbur's face quickly told him he'd messed up. Dream, on the other hand, was slumped against the doorframe and absolutely wheezing. From his ears to his nose was lit up bright red with laughter.

"George, I don't know what the fuck a 'meat wagon' is, but I'd love it if you didn't imply my son was on one." Wilbur grumbled sternly.

"Pillagers don't eat people, George. They just trade them, like slaves." Dream corrected, still grinning at George's naivety. "You really believed the stories told to you as a kid in your village, huh?"   
George frowned slightly, drawing his dark brows together at Dream's mockery. Whether he liked it or not, the other man was right. George didn't exactly pursue an education nor spend much time in the library of his home village growing up, he had no reason to. He'd always been quick on his feet and skilled with a sword, and Sapnap had been reigning juvenile delinquency on the town since day one, so it was no question that they'd be leaving their homes with nothing but their weapons as soon as they reached adulthood. 

George's head fuzzed with nostalgia as he recalled his first days on the move, boots not yet worn out with holes and eyes still bright with relentless optimism as he headed south to the closest city, best friend by his side the whole way. Sapnap had been George's friend since as far back as he could remember, always serving as the impulse control for the young arsonist during their childhoods and teen years. They'd met Bad in the city while they were looking for their first contract. He was just a potion seller, if George remembered correctly, and while George was purchasing off of Bad, Sapnap had recited tales of the great adventures that were to be found in the life of a hunter. The young brewer's eyes grew wider until he was begging to join them- and the rest was history.   
A loud knock on the door ripped George from his cloudy thoughts and he raised his gaze to where Dream was stood, peering out of the door's windows before hesitantly opening it.

A young woman barged past the green-clad man, eyes frantically darting around the room until they landed on Wilbur.

"Niki!" He breathed in relief, soft smile passing his features. "What's going on out there?" Niki was still very irate, face etched with worry.

"The pillagers are gone- the golemns from the east finally arrived and cleared them out. But Will, they took some of our people." Niki gasped out, chest heaving with panic. She spoke in an accent unfamiliar to George, and Dream's reminders of how little he actually knew about the world came back to him. "A woman, two travellers and a child, apparently. Will, they think they might have taken Fundy." 

"Wait, two travellers?" White hot panic flooded George. His heartbeat thundered obnoxiously in his ears and his ribs suddenly seemed too tight for his lungs.

"Fundy..." He was vaguely aware of Wilbur's desolate sigh from next to him. But George couldn't see the blacksmith, it felt like everything around the corners of his vision had turned dark. What he could see didn't register in his mind anymore as he was consumed by the horrible tightness in his chest. If Sapnap and Bad were gone, he didn't know how could carry on. Those men were his life, they had been for the past few years. Thousands of nights spent around campfires or in Inns, thousands of meaningless locations, blurred past him in his mind and his heart ached at the idea he'd never get that again.

He buried his face in his hands out of a desperate need to do something with them, and nearly recoiled when he noticed his face was damp. When had he started crying? It didn't matter. A voice seemed to cut away the haze he was drowning in, and he strained his ears to decipher the words.

"...you? George! I said is it okay if I touch you?" Finally, some semblance of a sentence formed from the frenzy in his mind. He nodded absently as he realised someone was now sat right beside him on the floor. An arm looped around his shoulders and he numbly collided with someone's body. Something kinder than an ache seemed to settle into his bones, a foreign sensation of deep rooted belonging. It reminded him of warmth behind his ribs and glass lit up in green light but his brain was too scattered to connect the pieces in his mind. 

"You need to breathe. Slowly, even if it's difficult." George tried, but his traitorous lungs staggered under his efforts. "You're getting there, come on." The oxygen was welcome back into his body as his breathing eventually evened, panic ebbing away into exhaustion. He kept his eyes shut as he took a few seconds to appreciate the calm, his body limp after the exertion of his distress. "There you go, good job."

George's blood ran cold again at the voice. He shot open his eyes, the world around him comprehensible again. He had his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, with his head resting on someone's warm chest. An arm was wrapped around his bunched up form, holding him against their body. Embarrassment set in as he understood who the 'someone' was.   
He scrambled away awkwardly, stumbling to his legs and looking down at the masked man, still sat on the floor. 

"Uh-" Words refused to come out of his mouth, face burning up in embarrassment. "Thanks." George managed stiffly, mouth pulled together.

"Don't make it weird, George." Dream laughed as he stood up, shifting back into the smug asshole persona that made George's skin crawl. 

"Excuse me? I could kill you right now." He shouted in indignation. "I'm still after that bounty, you fucker."

"Look, George, while you were having your moment, I was being useful and helping Wilbur. I'm going to go get his kid back."   
Dream's response only stoked the fire of embarrassment in George's body. "I'd imagine, if you want your friends back, you'd be coming with me. Making me your enemy doesn't seem like a smart move." 

Sure enough, Wilbur and Niki had left the blacksmith it seemed. He returned his gaze to Dream, who was leant expectantly against the wall. Working with the man he was meant to be killing didn't exactly inspire joy in George, but Dream was undoubtedly skilled in battle. The masked menace staring him down, unfortunately, seemed to be his best shot. 

"Why would you work with me, anyways? My friends are gonna go right back to trying to kill you once I've got them back." George spat stubbornly, eyes narrowed as he realised his options were wearing thin. Dream leant forward slightly, sharp jawline and smirk peeking out from behind the white porcelain.

"I don't know, George. Maybe I know something you don't." The air between them weighed down on George as those words made something in his gut wrench uncomfortably. Dream lurched back into action again, the strange atmosphere snapped away as he spoke up. "So, get some rest. Wilbur said he'd upgrade your weapons for free, lucky you. We head out tomorrow." 

George watched as his target left the blacksmith, irritation bubbling up inside him.

"What a prick." He sighed to himself as he left too, a few moments later. He wandered the gravel paths yet again, much more solemnly than earlier in the day, seeking for an Inn of some sort to stay in.   
Less people were in the street now, and those who were outside were more reserved. They quietly swept up glass of broken windows, and tended to trampled crops. The aftermath of the raid wrenched pity from George, but he didn't have the means to help. All of his supplies- his tent, his food, everything- were with Bad and Sapnap. George was truly alone for the first time in his recent memory. 

Back in his home village he'd spent weeks or so alone, when Sapnap would be held in the village jail until his parents would go get him after another stupid stunt, but at least back then George knew Sapnap would be back. This was different. George was genuinely alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Golden streams of light flooded in through the gaps and holes in the moth-bitten curtains, leaving amber beams to dance across George's bed. The wooden frame of the Inn's bed groaned as he rolled over, duvet pulled up over his messy brown hair to block out the intruding light. A voice in his head reminded him that if the sun was up, he probably should be too, and with an annoyed huff he abandoned the warm cocoon of blankets he'd spent the night in. 

The man padded across to the bathroom attached to the Inn room, weighed down by his stiff muscles. He wasted no time in locking the door behind him, reminding himself that this would probably be the last time he could have a working shower for a while. As he waited for the water to warm, George got undressed, running his hands over his arms and legs to check for any injuries to be mindful of. Surprisingly, not even his knuckles and knees seemed to be sporting bruises or scrapes. That was new.

"Looks like my luck might be turning." He muttered to himself, stepping into the shower and letting the warm water wash through his hair and run down his body. As he lifted his hands to wash his hair, he was reminded of the scrape at the back of his skull- yet, he couldn't find it. Confusion coursed over him as he ran his fingers across the back of his scalp again and again, seeking for the scar, but it simply wasn't there. 

The situation played on his mind persistently, even when he stepped out of the shower a few minutes later. 

"Is it possible my soulmate's in this town?- or am I just going crazy?" He pondered aloud, scrubbing a towel through his hair. With a huff, dumping the wet towel on the floor, he walked back into the Inn room to get dressed. "Sapnap did say the cut wasn't as bad as I thought it was." He paused as he rooted through his belongings, eyes landing on a small ornate dagger he'd carried with him since his teen years. Without a second thought, he tied it snugly around his left thigh with a strip of animal hide, then pulled on his jeans. He could never be too cautious, travelling with Dream, and all of his weapons were with Wilbur...

"Oh shit, what if my soulmate's fucking Wilbur? Absolutely not."  
Wilbur was an attractive man, there was no doubt, but George didn't feel any draw or pull when he met Wilbur. If that's what meeting your soulmate was like, George was more disappointed than anything. Sighing, he shook the clambering thoughts out of his head. Sapnap was right, George was just a baby over injuries.

Wilbur was waiting for George when he stepped out of the Inn, and a twang of guilt tugged at George for how long he slept in. The curly haired man brightened up at the sight of the hunter and waved him over enthusiastically.

"Good morning, Will." George greeted sheepishly. Wilbur seemed not to pick up on it, as he immediately began to move down the pathway.

"Walk and talk, George, you slept in." He ordered, and George trotted awkwardly after the blacksmith. Will was tall, and George had to sort of skip every few steps to keep up, to the point where it was kind of ridiculous. "I've done what I can to your weapons, and I've packed up a horse with supplies for you and Clay to take with you."

Something within George wrenched at the name. 

"Clay?" He gaped.

"Yeah?" Wilbur reflected George's confusion back at him. "The blonde man with the mask and the hoodie- I thought you two had history. His name's Clay."

"Oh." Was all George could muster, skin buzzing uncomfortably at this discovery, like someone had set electric sparks off across his body. "I know him as Dream." 

"Well, he's an odd one, isn't he? Anyways, you've got a good few days of food and a tent. And the horse is great, I assure you, just keep him safe." Wilbur continued. The houses were growing fewer and more spaced out now, a sign that they were approaching the edge of the village. 

"You don't need to do all that for us, Will, genuinely." The familiar nagging guilt returned to George, eating away at him.

"I know, George, but you're going after something incredibly dangerous to bring back my boy. It's the very least I could do." They rounded the corner and Dream fell into George's view. He had the lead to a tall, shiny dark horse in one hand and was calmly trailing his other hand down its nose. He had his porcelain mask on again, but it was a peaceful moment, backlit beautifully by the early noon sun. It hurt George to see such a scene shattered, but the crunch of the gravel path made Dream turn towards the other two men and his guard was back up, shoulders tensed again.

"Oh boy, sleeping beauty arrived." Dream called, and the horse flicked its ears in slight annoyance. It was already saddled up, with a large satchel strapped to its body behind the seat. 

"Shut up." George grumbled, ears burning. "I can't believe out of everyone, I have to go on an epic quest with you." 

"What are the odds?" Dream's voice came out softer, more contemplative, than George had ever heard it, and there was an awkward beat of silence between them. The air around George seemed to be weighing down on him suddenly, and he felt the urge to say anything to get the conversation moving again.

"Dibs first shift on the horse." He managed, trying his best to sound less strained than he felt. Wilbur laughed beside him.

"Don't worry about that. He can handle both of your weight- if one of you was walking, the pillagers would be gaining ground so much faster." Wilbur provided. George could tell Dream was grinning smugly under his mask, and it infuriated the brunette right to his core. 

George remained less than thrilled about the travelling arrangements, pouting grumpily as Dream rattled off strategy at him, and taking much more time than necessary to get his foot in the stirrups properly when trying to mount the horse. After what seemed like ages of mishaps and complaints, he'd swung his leg over the horse and was sat atop the glossy black animal. The ground seemed very far away, and it occurred to him that he truly had no clue what he was doing. 

"Is now a bad time to say I've never ridden before?" The hunter coughed out uncomfortably, fingers threading in the mane in front of him. Dream chuckled from the ground.

"Not to worry, princess." He swung his leg up and slid into place behind George fluidly. "I've got this." Dream looped his arms past George's waist, gripping onto the reins. George's heart leapt up into his throat. His back was flush against Dream's chest, with Dream's arms around him on either side to steer the horse. The hunter couldn't tell if he felt threatened or protected, which only stressed him out more. 

"Perfect! Be safe, guys. Clay, look after my horse." Wilbur called. George felt Dream tense up at the usage of his name. 

"Thank you, Wilbur. We'll bring your son home." Dream responded, stirring the horse into action. George sat rigidly as they began to move, trying desperately to keep his breathing even. The last thing he needed was the ever obnoxious Dream to know how afraid he was. 

"So, which way are we going?" George asked, staring dead ahead as they were seemingly aiming towards a wide, well travelled yet rudimentary road. 

"Eastwards. It's the only road the pillagers could have taken, because it's the only path wide enough for their wagons." Dream's voice rumbled in his ear. George relaxed backwards slightly, only half-consciously. The horse picked up pace as they broke through onto the wide road, kicking up dust behind them as it fell into a steady trot.

"Right, what do we do after that?" 

"Aren't you meant to be a hunter? You tell me."

"We..." George paused to think. "We look for signs of pillager disturbance, like dead villagers or mutilated animals, and use that to work out what direction they're headed."

"Good boy, George. You're smarter than I thought." Dream laughed lightly. George felt like the man's words were melting him and he hated it, grateful that Dream couldn't see the shameful crimson blush smudged across his face right now. 

The road ahead of them was the typical broad dirt track you found in this sort of region, lined with tall, lush emerald grasses and gnarled trees. Their twisting, warped branches reached over the road, and George found himself thankful for their coverage under the hot midday sun. It struck him as slightly funny, if he were to be honest. Here he was- leaning against the man he'd been contracted to kill, eyes half lidded against the dappled sunlight, taking in the scenery. Life was odd, that's for sure.

"Dream?" He found himself saying inquisitively. The masked man hummed in response. "Why haven't you killed me yet?"

"What do you mean?" Dream seemed taken aback slightly, tensing up behind George.

"When I was unconscious on the beach, or when we were trapped together at the blacksmith- or even right now," He rambled on. "You've had so many opportunities to kill me so far. Why aren't I dead yet?"

"I can't save Fundy alone now, can I?" It would have been so easy to accept that familiar, confident tone, but George refused. 

"You're dodging the question. You could have killed me way before we met Wilbur and knew about Fundy." He challenged immediately. Regret hit him as soon as he saw Dream's hands tighten in frustration on the reins in front of them.

"Not everyone makes a living out of killing, George. You realise you have the most useless job ever? What's even the point if people just respawn." Dream snapped, causing George to flinch under him.  
"I don't care, it brings in the money, doesn't it?" The hunter yelped, voice breaking slightly out of strain. "I'm allowed to ask about my own survival, you didn't have to shout."

Dream didn't respond.

George sighed, a bitter and harsh noise, frustrated. All he wanted was Sapnap and Bad. The brunette shut his eyes briefly in an attempt to calm himself, and found images of previous summers dancing around in his mind. Him and Bad, ankle deep in clear running water, kicking water up at each other and laughing. Or the time Sapnap spent a whole hour trying to convince him and Bad that there were rabbits that could kill you in one bite, something the trio spent the rest of the trek laughing over while Sapnap got increasingly grumpy over his lack of success. It almost killed the man to know those friends he'd spent days working and adventuring with were probably having a horrible time currently. 

"You okay? I'm sorry for snapping." Dream's voice pulled George from his reminiscing. 

"I miss my friends." George admitted awkwardly. A moment passed before Dream shifted slightly, bunching all of the reins in one hand and moving the other to rest on George's arm. He rubbed small circles across the hunter's skin with his thumb, an action George did find comforting- although he wouldn't admit it openly. The tension seemed to lift from his strained shoulder and neck muscles, and he let a soft smile play across his face. "Thanks, Dream."

"Don't worry about it. We're gonna be together for a while, so I think we should get along." Dream assured softly.

It wasn't until the mid afternoon that they stopped travelling. Dream steered the horse off the path, trampling down the overgrown grass as it went. A wide, glassy pond had caught his eye and it seemed like the ideal place to tie up the horse for a drink and a rest. 

George didn't hesitate to leap off the horse as soon as Dream drew it to a halt, much to Dream's amusement. Dream slid off much slower, removing the saddle to allow the sweat-slicked horse time to cool off. He watched it with a small smile as it bowed its head, lapping at the clear water, before turning around to face George. The man was sat on the grass, rolling up the ends of his trousers up to his knees, white goggles pushed up onto his forehead.

"What are you doing?" Dream laughed as George stood like an excited child, hopping down to lake shore.

"It's boiling on that sweaty horse, Dream." George retorted, sticking his legs in the water. "Don't laugh at me, I'm actually a genius here." 

"Sure you are. You can keep saying that when your boots start to chafe as soon as you put them back on." The masked man teased lightly, causing George to scoff in response. Dream turned his back to the hunter and began to rifle through the satchel Wilbur packed.   
"Oh, nice." He mumbled to himself, pulling out a loaf of bread from the pack. He heard George gasp quietly behind him, and he whipped around almost instantly. The awestruck expression on the brunette's face almost physically melted Dream's heart right into his chest. Light refracted off the man's honey brown eyes, and an open mouthed smile was plastered across his face.

"What is it?" Dream near whispered, keeping his voice soft in case he shattered the moment. 

"Look!" George excitedly waved Dream over to the ponds edge. There, under the water, there was a flash of silver that expanded and rippled fluidly. Drawing closer, Dream realised it was a shoal of fish, all moving as one, glinting silver under the sunlight. He grinned fondly as waves of silver and blue waved under the water as the shoal flitted left and right, and he glanced up at the face of George who was still rife with awe. 

Dream's heart ached under his ribs at the sight. Every moment he found himself spending with the man, the more he found himself understanding the soulmate bond. It felt like he couldn't feel at ease anymore unless George was close to him, every touch they made felt like blue and gold fevers across his skin. The thought that he almost killed this man- almost dashed his skull out over the sand- horrified him to his core. He couldn't kill George, not now.

He settled down, cross legged besides his unknowing soulmate, tearing the loaf in half. The larger half was handed to George, who took it without taking his eyes off the fish flickering below him. Dream smiled weakly. The soulmate issue could be resolved later, he decided. For now, this wasn't too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you're enjoying this so far :)  
> uuuh bit of an odd question, but i don't know whether or not to add smut into the story, so if you could drop in and let me know what you think it would be much appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

The boys stayed by the lake longer than either of them were willing to admit.

Fresh bread had long since been eaten, with George tossing crumbs across the waters surface in between bites. His giggles at the frenzy of fish, all clambering to eat the scraps, lilted through the balmy summer air and combatted the constant hum of insects around them. Dream eventually removed his mask, whining about how hot it got underneath it, and knelt at the water's edge to splash the cool liquid over his face and neck.

George tried his best to ignore the way his traitorous heart raced at the sight. 

He flopped back into the vibrant green grass with a huff, gaze turned up to the sky. White cotton clouds trundled lazily above him, and the warm sun beating down on his face coaxed him into letting his eyes slip shut. The man was vaguely aware of Dream laying down next to him.

"Sleepy?" Dream laughed softly.   
"Something like that." George mumbled, appreciating the peace of the moment.

"I take it you won't be up to get back on that horse today, huh?"

"Are you kidding me?" George laughed, opening his eyes and rolling onto his side to face Dream. Dream rolled over as well, all damp wavy hair and bright eyes, stray strands of grass stuck to his clothes. "My ass is not built for sitting in that stupid saddle for hours."

"Yeah? What's it built for then?" Dream teased, cocking a brow. George broke into a laugh, shoving him away in mock anger. The blonde let himself fall onto his back again, grinning at his own joke. 

"Shut up." He tried to manage with a straight face. "Besides, it's nice here." 

"I'll get some firewood then, but we've got to get moving again by dawn. We can't afford to waste any time." Dream got to his feet, brushing the grass and dirt off his trousers. George nodded, thankful that he wouldn't have to spend any more hours sweating on the move. He allowed himself a few more moments sprawled on his back, watching the bright blue of the sky dim gradually as afternoon wasted away into evening. 

Reluctantly hauling himself to his feet, he reached into the satchel and pulled out the roll of fabric and sticks of the tent. 

"There's only one?" He grumbled, scrunching his nose discontentedly. Either way, he turned around and got to work setting it up. Dream had been nicer than George anticipated, if he were to be honest with himself. He was so different from the masked menace he imagined, and he found a strange sense of tenderness with him. Dream was certainly something different, George had known that from the moment he woke up face to face with his green eyes. 

When Sapnap and Bad got back, he knew they'd go back to hunting Dream. There was nobody more stubborn than Sapnap. George hadn't spent long with the man, but being around Dream was like his bones were in the right place for the first time. And there he was, the man himself, returning from the woodland with an arm full of wood.   
George found himself reminded of sunlight through stained glass, and he smiled. 

The pair had a campfire set up by the time the sun has began to nestle behind the horizon, setting golden light shimmering across the lake's glassy surface. From their spot, perched awkwardly on other ends of a log beside the fire, Dream spoke up.

"That's a good thing about living on the move like us, I suppose. You miss sunsets like this when you're inside by dark." He didn't take his gaze off of the horizon as he struck up conversation. 

"I mean, I can't see it properly." George laughed to cover up the remorse he felt over not being able to see what Dream could. "I'm colourblind, apparently. I've heard sunsets are meant to look colourful, though."

"Colourblind?" Dream finally turned his head to face George, face lit up warm ambers from the fire and setting sun. "That's new. I didn't know that."  
"There's a lot I don't know about you, either." The brunette challenged, suddenly slightly more serious. Dream seemed to sense the way the conversation was gradually growing colder from the way he shifted his tone to match George's.

"That's true. I mean, you were trying to kill me two days ago. Forgive my apprehension." He bit, words slick with sarcasm, tone walking a fine line between fondness and bitterness.

"Exactly! Like, what did you do to get such a high bounty on your head?" George leant forward slightly.

"You mean you're hunting me with no clue why?" Dream raised, sighing at the slightly shamed look on George's face. Dream dropped his face and lowered his voice, leaning in as if he were a child telling a secret. "I'm going to get to The End."

George reeled back, eyes shot wide. 

"The End? Are you stupid? That's where explorers go to die, Dream."

"But not me." He responded, grinning confidently. "I'm going to be the one to kill the dragon, I know I am. The people who respawned from the End say there's ancient cities and technology beyond ours, if only you can kill the dragon."

"But killing that thing..." George paused, brows furrowed. The Ender Dragon was considered almighty, legends swirled around it and it was hard to decipher the truth from fiction.   
"People have lots of reasons for wanting it alive. To kill it for themselves, to preserve it because it's so rare- some people worship it. For all you know, George, you've been contracted by a cult." 

George searched Dream's unmasked face for any hint of mockery, but all the perfect features on his face screamed genuine. Defensiveness rose up inside him. He didn't appreciate his whole job being questioned, especially now it was so evident how little he knew about the world.

"Whatever." He finally shot, voice monotone and cold. "It doesn't matter to me, I just need money." George turned away from Dream, staring into the fire with his arms crossed.

"Come on George, don't get grumpy." Dream's teasing voice made his blood boil.

"Shut up."

"Don't be like that, look at me." The same confident, lilting tone.

"No."

"George," Dream continued, drawing out the last syllable of his name. George whipped his head back around to face the other man, possibly to spit some curt response, but caught his heartbeat in his throat instead. Dream was closer than he remembered, and now he found himself eye to eye with him. 

Thunderous waves in George's mind stilled as he realised he was close enough to count every freckle scattered across Dream's face. His fingers yearned to reach out and fit his hand against the other man's sharp jaw as seconds passed by, the calm of the moment fuzzing his brain. Dream's eyes softened and a small smile played over his face, and George couldn't help but wonder if Dream felt it to. The blonde made a move to lean closer and George's betraying body finally leapt into action, allowing him to scramble away. He staggered slightly, getting to his suddenly weak legs and stumbling back from the fire. 

"Stop doing that!" The hunter borderline yelled, arms wrapped protectively around himself.

"What?" Dream looked almost hurt, surprised by George's sudden outburst.

"I don't know! You're just-" George realised he had no clue what he even meant, but he was already set off now. "You do something to me, I don't know what it is. You make my head go weird, you need to stop it!"

"George, I don't understand." Dream pleaded. George's temper faltered slightly at the look on the other man's face. He turned around with a sigh, spark gone, moving towards the tent. 

"I think I'm just tired from travelling today. The heat, or something. I'm going to sleep." He muttered, his own sad excuse of an apology. 

He laid on his back in the tent for what felt like hours that night, studying the wrinkles of the fabric roof. George could still hear Dream out there, and he despised the way his ears strained to hear the sounds he made. The soft clinks of him cleaning their weapons, and eventually the hiss of him putting out the fire.

Dream didn't speak when he entered the tent, simply wedging himself on his back next to George. It was undoubtedly cramped, with them both laying arm to arm in the silence.   
"Bet you didn't think you'd be in the same tent as me again, huh?" George broke the quiet, referencing the first time the pair met. Dream laughed weakly beside him.  
"Definitely not." His response was lacklustre, empty of the warm confidence his voice typically held.

"I'm sorry, Dream." George finally said, face burning up in the dark. He heard the man shift slightly beside him.

"It's okay. I understand, really." Dream's voice was muffled and quiet, and the hunter struggled to understand them. He cast his gaze over to the blonde, whose eyes were slipping shut. George smiled to himself, before rolling over. 

"Goodnight, Dream."

He wasn't sure if Dream was awake enough to give a response. 

George was the first to stir the next morning, awoken by the sound of birdsong drilling into his skull. Grumpy from being awoken but desperate to get back on the road, he made quick work of leaving the shared tent. 

Their horse was already awake by the lake side, tugging at it's tether with energy in the early morning light. 

"Alright, calm down." He soothed, refitting the saddle on it's back. "We'll be on the move soon." Beside the dead fire there was the satchel of their belongings, obviously already packed by Dream the night before. All they needed was the tent and they would be ready to go. 

Dream stuck his head out of the tent opening, dirty blonde hair messed up from sleep. His tired green eyes blinked blearily in the morning light, nose scrunched up in discomfort.   
"George?" He called out, glancing around the clearing.

"Someone obviously didn't sleep well." He laughed in response. "Now get your ass out of the tent, we need to go!" Dream glared up at him before ungracefully clambering out of the tent, standing up to stretch before staring blankly at their campsite. George suppressed an eyeroll at his companion's early morning stupor. 

"Yeah, no shit." He chuckled, turning around and unstaking the tent posts. He moved slow and George impatiently ended up helping him, but before they knew it they were back on the horse, following the same dirt track they were following before.

A sense of unease swam uncomfortably inside of George as they travelled, eyes fixated nervously on the road. Something bad was coming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who commented for the support. You're what keeps me writing this, and I appreciate that so much even if I can't reply to everyone's comments. I read all of them, and they all mean the world and more to me.  
> So, here's the chapter I'm sure you've all been waiting for. :)  
> small TW before this chapter begins for very brief reference to suicide. It's very very small and shouldn't be triggering, but I felt I'd warn you all anyways.

George's bizarre sense of anxiety was only confirmed a few miles down the road. The first couple hours of their journey were normal, or as normal as sharing a horse with Dream could be. George would crack jokes and Dream's muffled laugh would be heard from within his white mask, and every now and then if the horse moved too aggressively George's head would collide with Dream's chin, but the journey was peaceful either way.

There was a sense of comfort found by George, relaxing with Dream's arms practically around him. Maybe it was shameful to think that way, but feeling protected was rare for the brunette, so he allowed himself to enjoy it.

Stumbling towards them, however, from the sides of the road appeared to be a young woman. She was without a bag or even a weapon, and as the two boys drew closer George realised with a lurch in his stomach that she was injured. Blood slicked her hair to her scalp on one side, and her knees were grazed painfully. Dream slowed to horse to a halt beside her.

"Are you okay, miss?" He called down, the sudden loud voice behind George making him jump. The woman shook her head softly, visibly shaking.

"Pillagers- they took my horse and my supplies." She stammered out, gazing up at them with wide and glassy eyes. "They tried to take me too, but I suppose I put up enough of a fight." Deep rooted sympathy pulled at George, but he couldn't help the excitement he felt. They were on the right track if the pillagers had passed through here.

"Do you know which way they went? We're hunting them down, they've taken my friends and a kid." George asked, keeping his voice even out of respect for the woman.

  
"They had a trailer with them full of people, probably your friends. My guess is that they're heading to Everside." She confirmed.

"Everside? That's a huge city. What business do they even have there?" George's heart dropped as he spoke. Everside was massive, the trade capitol of the region. If the pillagers were going there, there would be no way for Dream and George to find them.

"Everside has a huge black market." Dream muttered darkly behind him. "People are traded like livestock, and most of the time the City Guards can be bribed into leaving it be. It's how the Pillagers get their money, I guess."

"If you want to find your friends, you'll need to beat them there. There's a lot of them and they've got trailers with them, so they'll be moving quite slowly." The girl on the ground provided. Determination swirled around in George's gut, alongside a new sense of urgency.

"Thank you so much for your help, miss. If you follow this road there's a village about a day away. Ask for Wilbur, and tell him George sent you. He can help you." George called down. The woman nodded appreciatively, turning to walk in the direction George and Dream had come from. Dream urged the horse into action again, and soon enough they were back on the move.

"Listen, we can get to the city before them. The last thing we should do is panic." Dream steadily said, as if he could sense the anxiety pouring out of George.

"You don't know that. Dream, these are my only friends and some man's kid we're talking about. The city is North of here, we could just take a shortcut through the fields and be there two days earlier than expected." George argued, threading his fingers through the horse's dark mane nervously. They seemed to be going agonisingly slow now that George knew what was on the line.

"We're more likely to get lost that way, George. It's not safe, it's probably full of mobs, and for all we know we could end up trying to trek through swamps or forests. There's a road for a reason."

"Well at least make the horse go faster!" George yelled suddenly, hands tightening. "We can't afford to lose them!"

"George, don't yell-" Dream tried to reason, urging the horse to go slightly faster anyways. It sped into a brisk canter, and the trees and bushes around them began to blur.  
  
"No! You need to listen to me." The brunette was growing irate, oblivious to the way the horse's ears were twitching uncomfortably. Their surroundings grew even hazier as the panicked horse sped up again, out of Dream's control.

"The horse, George, it's gonna-"

"Shut up! I don't care!" His voice grew louder and louder as the ball of frustration swelled up inside of him. "We need to find my fucking friends!"

At George's final shout, the horse suddenly reared up. It's front legs swung in the daylight, and the men went toppling off of it's back. George's world stopped making sense to him as he found himself in the air for a few moments, then all too soon he collided with the ground. His left shin hit the ground first, the impact radiating up his form, and then the rest of his body crumpled unceremoniously after. Black spots edged the corner of his vision and he rolled onto his back, winded and gasping for air.

As his bearings returned to him, the man figured he was laid on his back in the middle of the road, followed by being made aware of a growing agony in his shin. George pushed himself up into a sitting position, glancing down at his legs to assess the damage, and felt his stomach knot itself up at what he saw. There was a sickening bend in the middle of his left shin, nauseatingly unnatural, and the gravel of the road had torn through his jeans and left scratches over his thighs and legs. But the unholy break in his leg was what consumed him most, heart racing as the intensity of the pain only mounted as time passed.

He glanced over at the side of the road, where Dream was brushing himself off, nearly avoiding behind trampled by the horse. The blonde rolled out of the way of it's hooves and swiftly got to his feet, gripping it by its reins to steady it. He hadn't noticed George yet.

George opened his mouth to cry out for him, but found his throat closing up as the radiating burn in his leg grew.

His eyes grew heavy with tears, skin burning up. The pain felt like it was tearing him apart, it's icy hot claws shredding him from the inside.

"Dream," He gasped, staring through his blurred eyes at the shape of the masked man who was finally glancing at him from the other side of the road. "Kill me, please."  
  
"George?" The man's lack of action only frustrated George further, and the searing tears began to spill down his face.

"Kill me! It hurts so bad, Dream, please." George was a wreck, pleading with saline pouring down his cheeks and dripping off his jawline. "Send me back to the campsite, I know it'll set us back, but I can't do this."

"I can't do that to you." Dream was closer now, George could just about see the lime hue of his hoodie through the mist in his eyes. In a frenzy, George fumbled at the rips in his jeans, grappling for the knife he'd tied to his leg when he got dressed in the Inn. His shaking fingers made contact with the handle and he pulled it out, holding the ornate weapon to his chest.

"Don't make me do it myself." He sobbed, consumed with his own pain. Dream didn't speak, only pried the weapon from his pathetic grasp. The brunette opened his mouth to plead, or maybe to just scream, but shut it again as Dream sat down in the dust beside him. His wavering hand settled on the bend in the hunter's leg and George winced at the contact.

Nonetheless, he watched as the sickeningly unnatural bend in his shin began to straighten itself out. Agony ebbed out of him, instead replaced with a feeling George knew all too well now.

He knew it when he woke up to Dream's bright eyes not too long ago, and he knew it when he was trembling in the blacksmith. The scraps of fleeting feelings and bizarre occurrences all sewed themselves together in his mind in tandem to the reconnection of his bone under Dream's touch.

He let out a shaky exhale, blinking his tears from his eyes when Dream removed his hand- leaving his leg as if nothing ever touched it.

"You alright?" Dream near-whispered, knelt in front of George who analysed his formerly broken leg in wonder. He stared up at Dream, wishing for once that he'd take off that stupid mask so he could see his face. Questions flurried around his mind as his hands ran over the place where an injury should have been.

"After everything, it's you?" George's voice was hoarse as he tried to stare down the man that had to be his soulmate. "How long did you know?"

"Since the beach." His confession came out slow and quiet, as if the words themselves were trying to stay in his mouth. The blonde's own private secret, an abstract trinket for him only, now lay out in the open.

"Were you planning to kill me anyways?" George's head swam nauseatingly at the revelation. At first he was angry at Dream for not telling him, but then he caught himself understanding why. Which only led to anger again, but this time it was only for himself.

"Yes, but-" Dream cut himself off at George's horrified expression. "You have to understand that changed! At first I thought it was either kill you or be killed myself, but I could never hurt you George."

"You would have killed me forever, you selfish asshole!"

"Not anymore! I've seen the way you laugh, George, I've found myself in that godforsaken sound. I watched you at the lake and I understood why some people let themselves be burnt by fire." Dream's voice rose as his words escaped him. His borderline nonsense confessions sounded nearly unhinged to anyone- except George. "It's like being in a church, and-"

"And watching the sunlight come in through the stained glass, right?" George finished, but his voice was quiet and flat. Dream's eyes widened, and he lowered his voice again.  
  
"George, I couldn't take something like that from the world. You can be mad at me, just please don't let me lose you." It was the blonde's turn to plead, gaze cast downwards. George let out a long, deep sigh as he pushed himself up to his knees.

Hesitantly, his hand threaded itself along Dream's jawline, and he noticed with a pang that it fit exactly the way he'd imagined it would. With his other hand, he gripped the underneath of the white mask and slipped it off over Dream's head. Dark green eyes met rich earth brown, and George's lips met Dream's forehead for a moment. George's eyes fluttered shut and he let his stress dissipate into the moment before he pulled himself away from his soulmate.

"We can talk about it later, yeah? For now we need to get to the city. I'm sorry I made the horse buck us off." Dream nodded at George's words, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. George smiled as he took it, letting himself be hoisted to his feet.

They stood like that for a moment, hand in hand yet with a space between them, breaths baited and neither daring to speak.

"Fate is odd, isn't it?" Dream finally said, less of a question and more of a fact. George laughed breathily.

"Fate has a weird sense of humour." He responded, dropping Dream's hand in favour of moving towards their horse. "Let's get moving again, Dream, hopefully at a reasonable pace this time." Dream helped George up onto the saddle before clambering on himself, resuming their familiar position. He refitted his mask before he leant forward to talk.  
  
"It's Clay." He simply mumbled, setting the horse into a brisk walk. "The only people who call me Dream are the ones trying to kill me."

"I feel honoured, but who's to say I won't kill you in your sleep tonight?" George joked, grinning faintly. "Besides, I like Dream more. Might as well pay homage to how we met."  
  
"Fair enough. But I would have hoped the whole 'soulmate' situation could have spared my life." Dream spoke as George leant back against him, resting his head on the blonde's shoulder and looking up at him.

"I don't know about that one. You did have quite a high bounty." George pulled a face like he was thinking intensely, and Dream burst out laughing before shaking his head softly. They stayed like that for a while, staving off any potential awkwardness between them with jokes and jabs as they moved.

In the times of silence that they slipped into now and then, George mulled over the revelations he'd just had to tumble through. Part of him felt embarrassed at the way that Dream had watched George fumble and blush over the past few days, how he must have known why but never said it. George had never been a person who desperately needed to be loved, but the way Dream spoke about him made the brunette yearn for more.

George wasn't sure how he'd explain it to Bad or Sapnap either. He could already see their faces- Sapnap's contorted in disgust and confusion, Bad's shaded in sympathy. George didn't want pity or horror, he just wanted respect. Dream wasn't the person they'd set out to kill, he wasn't the menace they'd had in mind. They'd probably not understand that, though. They weren't there when Dream was comforting him when George so deeply missed his friends. They hadn't seen the way Dream's eyes scrunched up when he laughed, or heard the teasing way Dream said his name.

They couldn't get it, there's no way they would. Fate really did have a sick sense of humour.

It was turning dark by the time they finally stopped, Dream swinging himself off the horse and leading it into a forest clearing by the side of the road. George stayed on the horse, half asleep but still grinning down at Dream as he tied it to a tall, spiralling tree's trunk. The brunette watched him set up the tent in the lowlight, offering occasional whoops of encouragement while Dream half-jokingly grumbled about his laziness. 

Dream came to collect George from his seat on the saddle once the tent was up, chuckling softly as the hunter ungracefully slithered onto the ground, boots getting trapped in the stirrups more than once. 

"Don't laugh at me, that thing is tall!" He whined, mouth drawn into a tight pout as he wobbled towards the tent. 

"Are you sure you're not just short? I can get off it with no trouble." Dream replied, waiting for George to enter the tent before following him. They sat facing each other in the gloom, heads ducked to accommodate for the size of the tent. 

"Stop being so damn annoying." George's words were laced with fondness despite his words, leaning in to Dream ever so slightly. Dream seemed to catch on and mirrored his movement, reaching out a hand that cupped the brunette's face before moving it to thread amongst the the hair at the back of his head. George couldn't help the smile that toyed across his features as he closed the distance, mouth meeting mouth for the first time. 

He tilted his head to the side as Dream's other arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer in the darkness. George broke the kiss briefly, clambering into Dream's lap and wrapping his legs around the blonde before going into kiss him again, bodies pulled close together. His skin felt ignited in the night, colourful fevers burning up his bloodstream, heart screaming out ideas of belonging. 

Dream's mouth moved down to his neck, soft kisses deepening into harsher pressure and grazing teeth that drew soft whines from George's lips. The blonde's hand moved to George's thigh, tracing soft shapes on the skin there with his thumb. George pulled his head back slightly, gasping lightly for hair. 

"Not right now, please." He whispered, catching onto Dream's intent. "Today's been a lot, and I-"

"You don't need to give me a reason, George. That's okay." Dream leant forward to briefly kiss him again, then pulled away to continue speaking. "Whenever is okay with me." George's cheeks ached from the smile that crossed his face, drunk off the flutters in his chest. 

"Thank you." He whispered, then leant back in.


End file.
